Mutiny on Outstation Zori (10 page)

* * *

Aura Devor sat in her cell trying to come to terms with the mental shock she had suffered only an hour earlier. It had always been important for her to use her abilities to try and control a situation. It was her edge, and control was the key. Ever since she had let Eric die when the Dark had escaped the Imperium's Dreddogs, control of events and command of a situation had been her primary strategy for power.

He had always argued with her, cocking his head in that infuriating manner he had, telling her to take charge, go forward, never look back and never—absolutely never—let the Imperium get the upper hand… unless it meant that your friends and followers would prosper from the situation. Which was exactly the way he had died; holding off the Dreddogs while she sealed the lock behind him and led the Dark to safety. Aura would always remember how he looked in those last seconds. His body a flurry of movement beyond the weightless outer lock, but his face...

She only caught a glimpse of it, but his face revealed a certainty, an assurance, an inner joy that he was in control of the situation, in command of events, even when those events dictated his death.

His last expression had somehow given her the courage to go on, to do what was necessary to keep the fight alive, even as he died. And she
had
gone on to keep the fight alive for nearly seven years.

Now, however, she couldn't help feeling moved, manipulated, and transcended by the mental feedback she'd received from the Messiah. It felt as if the older woman had taken Aura's telepathic power, amplified it, and returned it to her mind tenfold.

If this was the way the Messiah operated, Aura had no trouble understanding how a person in the woman's company might feel a somewhat cosmic or religious experience. The thought of the experience made Aura edgy, uneasy.

Obviously, the Messiah had enormous mental strength. It was clear to Aura that the woman was dominating the attitudes of the entire crew. She even seemed to have an awareness of Aura's inner feelings, which was something that no one could know without being a precog, or having an intense consciousness of another person's sensitivities.

Aura wanted to learn more about how the old woman controlled and handled her followers. There might be something in it that she could use in her own leadership and dedication to a single-minded purpose. It would be dangerous to get close to the Messiah, but there wasn't much chance of that happening while she was a prisoner in a locked cell.

Unless...

Footsteps sounded distantly in the outer corridor. Possibly, they represented a way out of this mental cell block. Beneath the slickly painted grey bars in front of her, Devor knew a low-grade electrical charge ran that physically held her in check and blocked her mental transmissions. Still, she couldn't help but hope the approaching footfalls held some promise of release.

A short, yellow-skinned man came forward, peering intently at her face between the bars. "You are Aura Devor," he stated plainly, dressed in an equally plain worksuit with flapped pockets and a wide belt.

Aura noted that he carried no visible weapon. From the milky membranes in his eyes, she decided that he might be a Paethorn.

"What do you want?" She slumped on her cot, feigning hoarseness in the hopes of drawing him or his sympathy nearer.

"I am a friend."

She sat upright with interest. "Who are you, friend?"

"My name is Cast Janssen. I used to be a circuit-jockey like your friend, Jamie Clamber."

She rose and came closer to the prison bars, feeling their dulling effect on her concentration.

"You must understand," the short man explained, tapping the fingers of one hand nervously against his side, "the Messiah would never harm you."

Aura recalled the pain that had swelled in her mind. "Oh, sure."

Janssen went on. "I'm troubled that you're being confined. I'm sure it is more the result of Admiral Long's orders, rather than the Messiah of Izar's."

Aura nodded, backing away from the bars, trying to appear defenseless. She didn't have to try very hard. "Your Messiah knows all about my imprisonment. She was there when the orders were given."

"Yes, I know." Janssen brought his other hand out from behind him, exposing a clear loop of stiff plastoid. Aura immediately recognized the ring as a psi-bloc collar. The Paethorn held it up in the muted light. "I've discussed the situation with her and am gratified that she has decided to release you from your cell, provided…. you consent to this around your neck."

Aura wanted to agree, but held back.

"Of course, you will also be accompanied at all times by one of the Faithful," Janssen continued. "But I'm certain that your interests will be better served if you are free of this dull, cold—"

Aura interrupted, "What has any of this to do with Jamie Clamber?"

The yellow man took a pace back. "I met with him only an hour ago."

"He's here?"

Janssen looked away. "He seems very concerned about your welfare. Do you prefer to remain here, or—"

Aura tamped down a wave of panic. "No. Open the door," she almost pleaded.

Janssen smiled. "A wise decision." He passed the clear ring between the bars and extracting a code-key from his uniform pocket.

The Paethorn waited for Aura to lock the collar around her neck, before unbolting the cell door. "There is someone you should meet," he said with an odd tone of certainty in his reedy voice.

Aura resisted the urge to pounce on this little man, deciding to wait until she knew more about his connection with Clamber and the Messiah.

* * *

The old woman stood in the Command Officer's workstation and pensively studied the report handed to her by Admiral Long. "It would seem," she said with a slight pause, "that we are nearing a confrontation."

The Admiral stood as rigidly at attention. They were alone in the small room, discussing the outstation's tactical position. "The
Ironfist
is one of the Imperium's most heavily armed vessels," the Admiral advised in clipped tones. "Even worse, Admiral Sawyer is one of the Imperium's most ruthless commanders."

The Messiah raised an eyebrow. "Ruthless?"

"Without question. He's been stationed out here because of his reputation as a quick and sudden tactician. I know that he will not hesitate to use the full forces at his command, even if he's not provoked."

The Messiah paced in small arc, returning slowly to face the officer. "You have a suggestion, Admiral, on how best to handle the situation."

The younger woman drew herself up smartly. "For the good of the cause, I suggest we launch a pre-emptive strike before the
Ironfist
has the opportunity—"

"No."

The word rang in the air. The Messiah had spoken in a soft, confident voice, but the effect on the Admiral was as if she had shouted.

The Messiah continued. "That is not our best tactic. You know that our principles do not permit such un-provoked violence."

"Then we must respond immediately to the cruiser's demands, or else—"

"No."

The Admiral looked stricken. She was not used to being cut off repeatedly.

"We must not respond to the Imperium's demands."

"But..."

"We will be provided for, Admiral. I assure you."

The control console
breeped
signaling an urgent message. The Messiah leaned forward to activate the device in the workstation.

"This is the Bridge Officer," a voice said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but a scout ship has just appeared on our medium-range screens. And it's approaching the station."

The two women exchanged glances. The Messiah nodded, and the Admiral responded with: "This is Admiral Long. Raise all defensive blocs. We'll be there immediately."

CHAPTER 10

Jamie adjusted the odd costume he had borrowed from Kellak, the oldest of the Qestans, trying to not to feel too much like an idiot dressed in stripped and checkered robes. He had decided against the traditional turban for fear that it might come unraveled at some inopportune moment.

Kellak stood within the outer docking of Station Zori's Command Module. The rest of the party remained on the
Dagger
while the emissaries came aboard.

It was a bold—perhaps, absurd—plan. Jamie hoped to bluff his way onto Zori, claiming to be a follower of the precepts, trusting he'd be accepted as one of the faithful the way Cast had, months earlier. Still, he carried stealth suits tucked within the folds of his meretricious robes, just in case.

"Remember," he whispered from the corner of his mouth to the Qestan at his side, "let me do all the talking."

The other man nodded a sad face and broadly winked at Jamie—who felt his heart sinking.

The hatch cycled to completion and the door opened. A crowd of at least seven people stood waiting on the other side of hatch; a small, grey-haired woman at the forefront.

Jamie raised his hands and bowed deeply, saying, "Ah...it is you. I was sure it would be. You see, Kellak, the Messiah has come back to us." He stood erect and pronounced, loudly, "We were called."

The old woman canted her neck. "You were called...what?"

Jamie swallowed embarrassment and moved into the crowd. "No, you misunderstand. We were called to meet you. You must have known we were coming. We want nothing more than to be a part of your loyal sect. Please, oh Messiah, take us into your heart." He bowed again, feeling a terrible itch along the back of his exposed neck.

"Ahhhh," the old woman said.

* * *

Cast Janssen brought Aura down three levels to a small barracks whose door was decorated by a bold relief of a set of crossed eating utensils. She was surprised to see the Paethorn pause and knock.

From within a lilting voice called for them to enter, and the door slid open. Janssen ushered Aura into the compartment, where a heavy woman with a long, grey-streaked hair sat working at an over-sized food processor.

The woman folded a mass of pale-brown substance over on itself and set it aside to come around the table and greet them. She wore a loose-fitting grey coverlet—everyone wore grey here, it seemed to Aura—and a white apron, which she now used to wipe her broad hands. Her eyes sparkled knowingly and the hint of a smile touched the edges of her dimpled mouth.

"Ah, Cast…" She accepted the Paethorn's hand as if they were concluding a business transaction. "What do you have for me today?"

Janssen relaxed visibly in the large woman's presence. "The Messiah has instructed me to bring Aura to you for analysis and observation." He gestured in Devor's direction.

"I am Doctor Cinda Bauer," the woman beamed. "How are you?"

Sasha responded by attempting a mental scan of both Janssen and Bauer. The collar she wore blocked her telepathic abilities, but she felt a faint opening, the tiniest of cracks, through which she let loose her concentration. What she got back was muddled and difficult to interpret due to the bruising effects of the feedback she had received earlier while in the Messiah's presence.
Later,
Aura told herself.
Wait your time, until not hampered by weakness.
Then she smiled winsomely, innocently. "I'm fine, thank you."

Cast Janssen said, "Doctor Bauer is the station's psychologist."

The heavy woman continued to smile, her cheeks actually becoming faintly rosy. "I received a report indicating that you would be arriving, Aura. Please, have a seat and join me."

Devor took an offered stool next to the table where the psychologist had been kneading the lump of pale material.

"Let's talk, shall we?" Doctor Bauer suggested. "I understand that you have some unique mental abilities. By the way, Cast, is there any danger in that?"

The Paethorn came and sat on the opposite side of the table from Aura, where he calmly answered the doctor. "She's wearing a neck collar, Cinda. That should effectively mute her powers."

The heavy woman inspected Aura's neck and finally nodded, taking up her work of pressing the light-brown doughy substance and in on itself.

Despite the amiable circumstances of this kitchen interview, Aura felt alarm and nervously uncomfortable. In fact, she realized, she beginning to get angry, but she still had her wits enough to know she could gain more by careful conversation, than a direct physical attack.

"Is there anything to drink around here?" she asked. "Coffee, tea, sacred wine?" Her eyes followed Janssen as he reached beneath the table and brought up a metal container and three cups the size of shot-glasses.

"You know," Doctor Bauer said, "I think I've heard of you before."

The woman's hands pulled at the doughy substance, and Aura quickly realized what the psychologist was doing. It was a simple, elegant, and ancient function; an old custom from long before Imperium. Odd as it seemed, Dr. Bauer was making bread!

And why not?
Aura thought.
Everything about this place is disconcerting.

"Yes, I'm sure I've heard of you, Aura Devor. You're the leader of a rebel terrorist sect."

"We're a group, not a sect," Aura answered. "And we're not terrorists."

Janssen poured from the metal container. "Something called 'the Night', or 'the Fog', I believe."

"It doesn't matter," Aura said.

The older woman rolled the dough in her powered hands. "Of course, it matters. It matters a great deal to those who aren't taken advantage of by the Imperium."

Janssen held out a small cup, but Aura came to her feet. "Listen, what's this all this about? Let's stop playing games; I've admitted who I am. What happens now?"

Dr. Bauer hummed to herself, shaking out some sort of tangy seasoning on to the surface of her bread dough.

"Take it," Janssen said, still holding the cup out to her. "You asked for something to drink."

A faint scent of aromatic coffee came to Aura's senses. "I guess I'm not thirsty, after all."

Cast Janssen regarded her with a faint smile and then looked away, as if he were listening to something. "Cinda, do you mind that I'm here? Perhaps, I should—"

"No," Dr. Bauer said. "It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're here, Cast. But I am a bit surprised how low this great leader has fallen, She seems to have come here as a tool of the Imperium."

Aura felt her rage rising again. This was all a variation on the standard interrogation technique, obviously designed to throw her off balance. She steeled herself to avoid being caught in the trap.

"Sit down, dear." Dr. Bauer tore off portion of the dough she'd been kneading. She handed it to Aura. "This will give you something to do with your hands, and free your mind of trouble."

Aura took the substance and worked at it, squeezing it tightly at first between her fingers. Then, gradually, she developed a rhythm of pressing, folding, and re-folding the dough on the countertop, along with Dr. Bauer and even Cast Janssen.

The activity
was
calming. She began to feel composed, not by any chemical effect of the bread dough, or any telepathic influence, but the simple act of doing something easy for a change, something useful and...peaceful.

Over the next twenty minutes, no one spoke of Aura's past or present. Instead, the three individuals worked at the task Aura found both odd and consoling; sifting fine white power, mixing in oily liquids, and blending spices and salts into the thickening dough.

Finally, as they were cutting round sections out of the combined layers of the rolled mass, Aura asked, "What did you mean when you said I was a tool of the Imperium?"

The yellow-skinned man placed the cut sections into an oversized oven that sat behind Dr. Bauer, and began cleaning the utensils.

The psychologist shrugged. "The Imperium wears a person down in many ways."

"The Imperium is soft and corrupt," Aura said.

"But you've always found a way to give them a push where they needed it," Dr. Bauer answered,

Cast Janssen came back to the table. "The Imperium has no interest in greater things than itself, except to fear them. It turns a blind eye to pain, or beyond."

"Whoa," Aura said. "I'm not sure I understand. Sure, I hate the Imperium as much as the next person, but—"

"That's not as true as it once was, is it?" Dr. Bauer smiled. "Your hate has dimmed, your dedication weakened."

She must be reading my mind
, Aura concluded, even though she began to see a connection between the revolt against the Imperium and her own past activities.

"The point," Dr. Bauer continued, "is like that of making bread. When a person is dedicated to a firm purpose, they accomplish much. But when they've dispersed their energies in a random fashion, little good is accomplished."

"You're saying that the Messiah somehow focuses your 'energies'; gives you a dedicated purpose?" In the end, she realized that she had asked a question.

A buzzer sounded behind Dr. Bauer, and Janssen rose to open the oven and take out the freshly cooked loaves. The compartment filled with a mouth-watering aroma.

"What I'm saying," the psychologist said, "is that we are neither a dupe, nor a threat. Any vagueness on our part is purposeful, so that a direct decision can be made on your part."

"A decision about what?"

Janssen brought the warm bread to the table. "A decision about the rest of your life. Like the Messiah, you're a leader. But unlike the Messiah, you don't trust your followers. That's the decision must make: trust."

Gingerly, Dr. Bauer tore off a section of the white, flakey loaf.

Steam rose before Aura's eyes. The aroma almost overpowering. The heat warmed her face. There a bitter tinge to her voice. "Let me out of here," she said, fighting back tears. "Take me back to my cell."

* * *

The Messiah raised both hands in a pose that Jamie figured signified peace and acceptance.

"You are among friends," the woman stated.

"Thank you." Jamie cleared his throat. "We wish to join you, oh Messiah."

The elder woman played the scene with a straight expression. "I understand. Tell me how you came to find us?"

Jamie brought the fingertips of both hands beneath his neck where the folds of his gaudy garb had hidden the crystal pendant. Upon exposing it to view, the Messiah nodded. "Of course," she smiled.

"Like I said," Jamie answered. "We were called." Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation in his left hand, the one that had been closest to the pendant, a mild numbness or faint vibration from within the crystal. His thoughts raced. Could there actually be something to what Cast told him about the pendant responding to the Messiah's presence?

A bearded man in grey robes similar to those of the Messiah strode down the corridor toward their little group. He paused as he neared, catching sight of Clamber and the Qestan in their stunning outfits.

"Seize them," the bearded man shouted, hurrying closer. "They must not—"

But at that same second, another voice from the opposite corridor called out, "Alert. Alert. The starship is threatening attack. Battle stations. Battle stations."

The crowd of seven seemed drawn in as many directions. But only for a moment, as the Messiah's voice rose above all others.

"Stand down," she cried. "Stand down. We must not attack. We must not counter-attack. It is not our way." The deck shivered beneath their feet from the Imperial cruiser's opening salvo. "It is not our way."

Okay,
Jamie thought.
It's up to you now, Kleg.